My son started summer camp a few weeks ago. The camp is maybe six miles from our house but in Atlanta traffic around 8:00am, that is the equivalent of a 45-minute commute. I work from home and I have meetings in the morning so that leaves my wife to take him to the camp. I say I have meetings in the mornings. I kind of do but I doubt she’d see it that way. The meetings are with myself, a cup of coffee, and 45 minutes of silence. They are true bliss. Paradise, even. Then, without fail, when my blood pressure drops from high down to its resting place at medium-high, the phone rings.
On this particular morning the call was from my wife and son. They had passed what looked like a turtle about to cross a busy road a few miles from our house. For most people this would be a tragic tale of what was about to become of said turtle. For me, its a little different. I have a sworn duty to stop my car, no matter the condition, if it means I can save the life of a turtle.
This solemn vow comes from an experience I had about five years ago. I lived much further out in the suburbs in a place that could almost be considered rural if the golf courses didn’t outnumber the trees. Back then I didn’t really care about a turtle’s well being more than any other animal...and then I did.
For some reason my wife and I were driving around in my father-in-laws Prius. This was during an upcycle of anger towards manufacturing going overseas. The Prius had Michigan plates so we already had two checks against us in rural Georgia. This upcycle also coincided with another upcycle of anger about electric cars and how they were putting our domestic oil workers out of jobs. Strike 3.
As we took a relaxing mid-June drive I watched the scenery from the window. My wife was driving. I have never been granted the permission to drive my in-laws chariot, and probably never will, given my habit of aloofness with directions. We were on a small paved road with barely any shoulder and I noticed a blob edging towards the pavement. We passed and I saw that it was a box turtle.
Since the road was so narrow I was sure that this turtle was going to get hit and I didn’t want to be responsible for that if I didn’t have to be. I asked my wife to turn around. She did and parked fifty feet or so away in someone’s drive way and turned around. I hopped out of the car and started walking towards the turtle.
A distance away I heard a loud grumble. I looked up and there was a large, black pickup truck barreling towards me. I saw the driver. He saw me. He saw the Prius. He saw the Michigan plates. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at the turtle. The turtle poked his head out and looked at me. The driver looked at the turtle. He looked at the Prius. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. I ran towards the turtle as the truck came towards me.
The next thing I recall is wiping blood and specs of shell off of my shirt and standing in the middle of the road. There was a wet spot in one direction and a plume of “rolled coal” in the other. My wife stood with her mouth wide open. I was beside myself.
Was there anything that I could have done? Realistically, no. Either way, I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would never let that happen again. No matter the circumstances. If I have to park my car in the middle of the road and shield the critter from what I will assume was a truck worth more than my house, then so be it.
When I got the call the other morning during my ‘meeting’ I really did not want to get in my car and locate this turtle. I was scared of what I may find. I also forgot to put my pants on. Luckily I got there right before the thing crossed over the white line into the danger zone of a four-lane highway. I stopped my car, put on my hazards, and picked the guy up and moved him to the other side. The turtle was saved and the commuters got a show. Would I be bothered if a hawk came right behind me and carried him off or if a raccoon jumped out and cracked him open? No. As long as it wasn’t a tire, I consider my promise fulfilled.